Eight Perfect Hours: The hotly-anticipated love story everyone is falling for in 2021!

by Lia Louis

  Then I hear her familiar voice.

  Mum. It’s Mum. She’s here, and she looks beautiful, the sunshine on her face, her lips in her favourite ruby-red lipstick, knee-high boots, and fur coat she’d swish out of working men’s clubs in after performing. Mum. My amazing mum. And when she sees me, she bursts into tears. I hoped so much that she would come. But she’s starting small, and coming here, with her walking stick – a stick Dilly had painted hot pink and stuck diamantes on – is a big step for her. Huge.

  ‘Oh, Elle. Oh, Elle, this is just beautiful. Beautiful.’ Then she opens the lapels of Ian’s beige mac and cries into his chest.

  ‘Well done, Noelle,’ he says sensibly and measuredly, a hand patting Mum’s back. ‘A very well done. I’ve already left a Google review. Did I tell you? I’m a local guide.’

  Everyone stays for Theo’s cacao rose-water truffles, Candice and Steve turn up, having snuck out of the office on an unofficial smoking break, and Dilly sings two songs, while Mum watches and claps and sings along, and my heart feels like it’s going to propel out of my body at the sight of her bobbing from side to side, watching him live, like she used to. She’s here. I’m here. And we’re scared, definitely – I for one am shitting myself – but we’re doing it anyway. We’re living now. Because now is all there is.

  I look behind me at my little flower shop, and at everyone – well, almost everyone – I love in the world. And I think of something Daisy once said, something she’d written for her English paper – that the only way to live forever is to leave parts of yourself behind. And that’s what this is. A part of me.

  I turn on the platform, a cold breeze whipping through my hair, the smell of greasy sugared doughnuts floating from a bakery two doors down. And there he is. The final piece. Sam. Making his way down the platform. Tall, handsome, strong, can’t-eat-makes-me-puke levels of gorgeousness. He carries a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand, the colour of sunrise.

  I walk a few paces forward to meet him on the platform. Dilly plays and sings behind me; Mum, Theo and Ian watch him, Petal sleeps on, and Charlie chats to a passing commuter, a tray of truffles in her hand arranged on a foil platter.

  ‘You’re here,’ I beam at him, and Sam grins down at me.

  ‘What’s up, Gallagher.’ He leans down, kisses my lips softly, a slow hello. ‘Sorry. Overran a bit, with Dad. But I’m here.’

  ‘You’re here.’

  ‘Live and in colour,’ his voice rumbles in my ear, then he straightens, looks past me at the stall. ‘Jeez, and look at this. This – Noelle. It looks incredible.’

  ‘It really does, doesn’t it? And these …’ I gesture at the flowers in his hand, jiggle about on the spot, excitedly.

  ‘Oh, they’re not for you.’ Sam says sternly, shaking his head, then his face breaks into a wicked smile. ‘OK, fine. Take ’em. They’re yours.’ He laughs. ‘We can’t have you giving this little town flowers and nobody giving them to you, right?’

  ‘Oh my God, I love them. They’re asters,’ I say.

  ‘Yep. I know. I actually did my research,’ he says passing them to me, the paper crinkling in our hands.

  ‘Did you?’

  He nods, brings a hand to my face, holds my chin softly between his thumb and finger. ‘They mean patience.’

  My heart dances. ‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘They do.’

  Patience. Patience is what got us here. It could’ve happened fifteen years ago, it could’ve happened so many times. Who knows how many? Who knows how many times we passed each other, just missed one another, two ships passing in the night. But it wouldn’t have been the right time. But I feel sure that now is. The invisible red thread. It may have tangled, but it never ever broke.

  ‘Oh, and I also got you this.’ He pulls a rectangle from inside his jacket. It’s wrapped in thick, red paper. ‘Something for when you’re ready.’

  I hold the thick rectangle in my hand. Daisy’s photos. It must be.

  ‘Thank you. And now of course, I feel like you should have something.’

  Sam kisses my forehead. ‘Nah,’ he says. ‘Already got everything I need.’ He smiles down at me, as his hand slides down my arm and grips my hand. ‘Come on. Let’s go see the fam.’

  Behind me, Dilly finishes a song and I hear Charlie shout, ‘Well, if it isn’t Captain America!’

  Sam laughs, raises a hand in a wave, and together, we walk towards my little shop, my family, my friends, my future. My forever.

  Epilogue

  The sun is beginning to go down, painting the train station in a marmalade glow. Rush hour over, and one single bouquet of flowers sits beside me in a bucket. Mine. My asters, from the man I love. I sit on the tiny little round stool in my kiosk. I closed half an hour ago, but I just want to sit here. Take it in, my first day as a business owner; take in my life, as the sun goes down, marking the end of another day.

  I take out the gift from Sam and unwrap the paper, and of course, it’s what I expect it to be. But it’s not a photo album. It’s a photo book, bound, like a paperback novel. I take a deep breath, listen to the rumble of a train approaching, the tweeting of birds, bedding down, the chugging of a shop’s shutter going down. I turn the page.

  The first photo is Daisy’s feet in pink tatty Converse on green frosty grass. The next is a deep blue sky, a blurred mass. The next, the college, all sandy brick and railings. And then: there we are. Daisy and me. Smiling, tight arms enveloped around each other, a tangle, cheek to cheek. Love. Friendship. The world at our feet. And it isn’t hard to look at it, as I thought it would be. It doesn’t crumple me into tears like I thought it would. It only makes me smile, makes my heart swell, with the love for her. With hers, for me. That I know how it feels to love someone, like I loved her.

  Another photo of the sky – the moon this time, pearlescent and glowing. Daisy always loved the moon. Said it made her feel small and insignificant when the world was on her shoulders. Then Lee. Bradley Goody. Aged 18. Blond, blinking, his eyes closed, cheeks bitten by the cold. And beside him, young, tall and skinny Sam, his large arm wrapped around Lee’s shoulders. I stroke a thumb over it. Who’d have known we’d end up like this – that we’d end up here. Me, and the boy in the photograph.

  I flick through the pages. I’d forgotten the awful quality of some of these old photos – wrong sort of light, the slip of a flash on, when it should be off, the blur, the orbs of light. Daisy would love the new cameras we have on our iPhones. She’d document her whole life. She’d be an influencer, I bet, because you couldn’t help but watch her. I’d give anything to watch her do an Instagram story, or a post, all poetic in the caption, and all style in black Doc Martens and long flashy skirts and sunglasses against a graffitied wall in the photo.

  And then there it is. The picture I was so sure was a snapshot into my future. My forever. Ed and me. Our faces pressed together, young and happy, our fingers entwined, and in the background, the white glowing plate of a full moon and crowds of kids, young and happy too, like us. But my eyes find something, at the same time my heart locks into place. Just on the left, distant and blurred, standing on the outskirts of a crowd but unmistakably, one hundred per cent him — Sam. Sam Attwood. In the background, small, in the distance, but inches away from the image of me.

  Sam and me. Me and Sam, in a photograph. The photograph of my forever.

  ‘Hey, you,’ he says now, popping his head around the door, a delicious smile on his face. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’m ready.’

  Acknowledgements

  This part – as much it is my favourite – always feels so daunting to write. Because while writing might be a solitary profession – just me, my laptop, and many, many cups of coffee, most of the time – it takes a village to bring a book into the world and without each and every one of them, I probably wouldn’t even have an acknowledgements page to write. (And of course, I’m always so worried I’m going to forget someone!)

  Firstly, I owe so much to my incr
edible agent Juliet Mushens at Mushens Entertainment. Juliet, thank you so much for your advice, your guidance, kindness and friendship, (and for calmly listening to my insane ‘I’m going to delete my book and move to the woods to live off grid, sorry, bye’ voice notes.) Without you and your fire-extinguishing, I’d be a little lost koala.

  A massive thank you also, to the whole Mushens Entertainment dream team and co-agents, and to the simply brilliant Jenny Bent at The Bent Agency, New York.

  To my brilliant editor Charlotte Mursell, thank you so much for your hard work, passion and excitement, and for completely ‘getting’ me and the stories I want to tell (even when those stories are a mere wobbly skeleton of what they’ll end up becoming!) Thank you to Alex Layt and Lucy Cameron, and the entire lovely, hard-working team at Orion.

  To my U.S editors, the amazing Emily Bestler and Lara Jones – thank you for your vision, your encouragement and your cheer-leading. It is an absolute dream come true to work with you both, as well of course, as the whole incredible team at Atria/Simon & Schuster.

  To the many talented writer-friends I am fortunate enough to have; you are the best far-away work colleagues I could ever ask for. Thank you to my bestie Gillian McAllister, to L D Lapinski, Lynsey James, Lindsey Kelk, Hayley Webster, Laura Pearson, Stephie Chapman, Rebecca Williams, Lia Middleton, Nikki Smith, Holly Seddon, Hina Malik, and so, so many more of you who make my tiny, little world feel big and wide and warm. You are at the proverbial water cooler in my phone, rain or shine. Your beautiful words make the world a better place.

  To my beautiful friends who accept and love me for the old-before-my-time, Friday-nights-in-my-pyjamas hermit that I am. You know who you are. Thank you.

  Mum and Steve, Dad and Sue, Bubs, Vicky, Alex, little Lottie and Max, Nan, Grandad, Alan and Libby. You are the warmest, proudest, funniest family of all. I’d be lost without you, and your love.

  To my three beautiful babies, and to my Ben: thank you for loving me. Thank you for being my safety and my home. Thank you for accepting me for all I am (and blowing smoke up my arse and telling me I’d win Masterchef every time I nail the Sunday Yorkshire puddings.)

  And to you, the readers. To everyone who has read my books, reviewed, reached out, spread the word, made beautiful posts. Thank you. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to do

  If you loved Eight Perfect Hours, don’t miss the achingly romantic love story Dear Emmie Blue by Lia Louis!

  Click here to read now:

  And follow up with Lia Louis⁏ enchanting and funny debut novel, Somewhere Close to Happy,

  available to read now:

  ‘A delightful story … You will love Dear Emmie Blue!’

  JODI PICOULT

  Emmie Blue has a secret …

  A long time ago, Emmie Blue released a red balloon with a secret message hidden inside - and against all odds, across hundreds of miles of ocean, it was found on a beach in France by a boy called Lucas.

  Fourteen years later, on the eve of her thirtieth birthday, Emmie hopes that Lucas is finally about to kiss her. She never expected him to announce that he was marrying someone else!

  Suddenly Emmie’s dreams are shattered and the one person in her life she can rely on is slipping through her fingers. But what if Lucas isn’t her forever? What if her love story is only just beginning…

  Don’t miss the love story that everyone is talking about!

  Available in paperback and ebook now

  If you loved Eight Perfect Hours, fall in love with Lia Louis’s other achingly romantic stories…

  Lizzie James is happy.

  She has a steady office job (with a steady stream of snacks), has had the same best friend since school, and she sees her family every Thursday night for take-away and trashy TV. Lizzie likes her uncomplicated life.

  Then a letter arrives one day from her first love, Roman. A letter dated the day he disappeared, 12 years before. As Lizzie uncovers the secrets of the letter, she discovers what really happened the year her life fell apart – and all avenues lead back to Roman.

  Lizzie James thought she was happy, or somewhere close to happy, at least. Now she’s not so sure….

  Heartwarming, funny and moving, this is a novel you won’t forget.

  Available in paperback and ebook now

  About the Author

  Lia Louis is a writer from Hertfordshire, where she lives with her partner and three children. She has written three novels to date – Somewhere Close to Happy, Dear Emmie Blue and Eight Perfect Hours – and her work has been translated into fifteen languages. In 2015, she won ELLE magazine’s annual talent competition with her contemporary love letter, #RelationshipGoals. Lia can be found tweeting at @LisforLia.

  Copyright

  First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Orion Books,

  an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

  Carmelite House, 50 Victoria Embankment,

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Lia Louis 2021

  The moral right of Lia Louis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN (Ebook) 978 1 3987 0327 8

  www.orionbooks.co.uk